A lot of us prayed for it, betted for it, betted against it, and then it just happened. Presenting the most awaited sequel (and possibly the last episode) to a discussion with an intellect level so high, einstein could feel lost reading it!

I clearly remember the day when I decided that I wanted to pursue an MBA. Remembering that particular moment still gives me goosebumps. The goosebumps were primarily because I had went out in the delhi cold to buy some bread anda without any woolens on, but anyways. The day will forever be etched in my memory. I had just completed my engineering, and had not got a job. I had just received the CAT scorecard with "WTF! you serious?" written on it. I knew then, India wasn't good enough for me. An MBA and that too from a place where the competition isn't that intense was calling me. Dear Sir/Madam, it is through this statement of purpose that I wish to offer my candidature for your esteemed (and filthily expensive) MBA program. I know Sir/Madam err wait a sec... this 'Sir/Madam' is getting ridiculously redundant, so please let me assume that you are a woman.. a really hot one. Okay. I know Madam, that among the scores of applications your office receives it must be really tough to go through so many stellar profiles. I personally would have used a wheel of fortune to choose students if I were you. hah! (ice breaker joke, please don't seriously use this suggestion this time). I would however, like to tell you a few of my experiences and more importantly, what I learned from them in order to further my case as to why I should be admitted.

I was once playing cricket with a few of my friends in my back lane. I don't like to brag much so to put it modestly, I am an awesome batsman. I hit a huge six once and the ball went straight inside Handa aunty's (Yes. that is indeed one of the many strange Indian names. And no, she's not named after a Japanese car manufacturing company) lawn. She bluntly refused to return it just like she had been doing it for all those years. Then once I noticed a brand new honda (No. That is not an Indian name. And yes, that is indeed a Japanese car manufacturing company) accord outside her home. Being a car enthuisiast myself, I went to have a look, and boy did I have a look! I saw an unknown man inside her house holding her in her arms. As soon as I let her know of what I saw, I got back around 47 cricket balls she had collected from us, and she also offered us an unlimited supply for the future as and when the need arose. I learned an important lesson that day. Acquiring critical information, and keeping it to yourself is a key factor for a successful organization. Google had its page rank algorithm shrouded in mystery for many years for example. Another lesson learnt was that you need to shortlist a section of customers who would pay their ass off for such critical information. The neighbouring Verma aunty for example, would not have payed me much for this information, but would have on the other hand disseminated it across the neighborhood which would have been a waste really.

Another fine night, I missed my last metro back home. I hadn't had food for the past 3 hours and was extremely hungry. With no money with me, I started running around like a foolish man. It is a pretty usual pang I have when kept away from food for long. Steve Jobs was in new delhi and saw me running foolishly. He asked me what the matter was and I told him I was really hungry. He gave me a million dollars. On his way back he realized what a dumass he was and what a genius I was. And that's when he came up with that catchphrase to be used at the end of commencement speeches. I learned an important lesson that day. Stay hungry, stay foolish.

I used to like this girl in school. It was more of an obsessive disorder rather than a simple like. It's because of her that I took home sciences classes in school learning how to make shahi paneer instead of the physical education classes. I used to follow her around incessantly. Sometimes even to her home, while my home was 10 kilometers away. Blank calls, Crank calls, I did em all. One day she knew. She must surely have realized my true love for her. She asked me to meet her after school. She came, slapped me on my face, threw abuses that even I hadn't heard before, and cited possible 'police action' if I didn't stop. I learned an important lesson that day. The risks of dedicated corporate portfolio management strategies. In conditions of an economic downturns, when the organization fails, the company managing it will also fail which should be avoided. I learned the importance of an equally balanced portfolio with multiple clients spread across all sectors. I learned the importance of various IP sections when it comes to stalking.. err.. I mean managing such clients. Hell I even learned a few nice abuses along the way.

Then there was this time when I got drunk in college and peed on a sleeping dog for fun. A few injections later I learned an important lesson that day too. You should never pee on a sleeping dog. Sorry. Not relevant but just wanted to share a few painful personal experiences.

So Dear Madam, I hope that citing such experiences I have been able to put my case across in an appropriate manner letting you know how I would be a perfect fit for your course. I truly hope that you would not want to lose out on such an awesome candidate, with a skill set so awesome, that some times even I wonder do I really need a degree? No but seriously I do need it. Please let me in. Dad's got shitloads of money awaiting to boost your country's economy.

I read a few months back about the introduction of new sun signs. I had changed from a fiery arien to a calmer piscean overnight. The new 'planets'/'stars'/'whatever shit astrology is based on' had changed me completely. For two straight days, I did not take a print out of Brian Austin Green, and did not punch a hole in it as a waking up routine. (Google who he's married to & I bet you'd do this too.) Nor did I participate in the stone throwing sport I indulge in, where I target randomly sitting animals/birds, and aim for their head. I had truly changed, or so I believed. But sadly, two days was all that it lasted. Which is when I realized what a crappy piece of junk astrology really is. Like all enlightened men from history, I quickly attained nirvana. Ingenuity and brilliance soon followed. What I came up with next are these awesome replacements for the phoney science called astrology. Pay attention.

The Roti test:

Your crime scene-One round chapati, in a thali. In case this sounds too humdrum to be read in a blog, imagine Yana gupta serving this... of course in a backless sari! you even had to ask?

Your plan of action-

You have had a fixed routine of breaking up chapatis ever since you stopped wetting your bed. For example, here's a possible roti-tod plan (in the image by the side) with the numbers indicating the order in which you eat the piece.Personality: You don't experiment much with what's been tried and tested. You genuinely like your smal titsy bitsy daily routines. In fact, you not only like them, you'd start feeling weird if any part of those carefully perfected routines changed. To prove me wrong, try asking your mum to make triangular chapati and eat it. Chances are, it just won't feel right.

No fixed way of breaking the roti up. you can take a tequila shot with one hand, and break rotis into edible pieces with the other. As long as it rids you of your hunger, you don't care how it looks when it enters your mouth.Personality: To all things/people that bore you, you give a rat's ass. You're not the one who craves to be loved by all. You have a select few close pals, and are willing to go neck deep in trouble for em. You have that quality of never growing up, which could on one hand, keep you the most jovial and the 'jaan' of parties among your friends, but could also land you into sexual harassment cases from random parents of random teenagers when you enter into your 50s.

You're a chinese. You have no clue how you landed on this site, and have no clue what the fuck a Roti is.Personality: Dude! forget about personalities, go change you passwords, and stop clicking on random links that take you meaningless websites like this.

The Sabzi test:

Your crime scene-

Three rotis and three square inch of sabzi's all you got. It's a moderately favorite sabzi of yours, which means, you don't necessarily hate it, but aren't that keen to ask for more either.

Your plan of action-

You don't care how much of it is covered/collected by a single Roti piece. As long as shiela and her jawaani continues gyrating on the TV in front, that's where your attention is. More than once in your life, you have accidentally dipped the piece of roti in the adjoining glass of water instead of the sabzi bowl, which you only realized when you drank that odd tasting water.Personality: Clearly, not the planning types. Your kids would openly hurl abuses at you for not saving anything for them. You however, would have lived a life worth living. Why worry about the future, when the present can be made awesome. You heirlooms would include heavy hospital bills, and a long list of creditors. On the plus side, you funeral would see a huge turnout, with thousands crying because of the huge loss. Physical and financial.

The sabzi is your everest, and you conquer it with meticulous planning. You run imaginary lines through it mentally dividing it into the exact equal number of roti pieces, the very same Roti which you've already mentally divided. The last chunk of sabzi looks like it was divinely put there to be a part of that last roti piece.Personality:Commander Hannibal. You are wasting your talents breaking bread when you should be drawing out plans on how to invade china. You're powers of saving for the future are so awesome, that you devise a financially uber complex investment plan, go suggest it to the companies first, and then put your money in it. Even if you know that the chances of you becoming a parent are zilch, you would still save enough money for your imaginary children so that they complete their Harvard degrees, two times over.

The Driving test:

Your crime scene-

A car, a wheel, you behind it, and a road in front.

Your plan of action-

The simple thought of some one overtaking you disgusts you. When some one does overtake, you bitch about how reckless his driving is, or you bitch about how the hell you landed up in the most slow moving lanes. Here's a precondition to all this:

N1<=N2

where, N1= number of wheels of your vehicle

N2= number of wheels of the overtaking vehicle.

In that rare case of N1>N2, all the sisterly and motherly love pours out in the form of choice punjabi abuses, because clearly, you've found that select group in the world which was responsible for all the crimes ever committed on earth which includes the holocaust, all the world wars, the killing of Gandhi, and the birth or Rakhi Sawant.Personality:If you were on an about-to-be-crashed airplane with another person, and there were two parachutes available. You would still end up killing that other guy because clearly the world needs you more, and hence, you need that added risk mitigation in the form of the extra parachute.

You inevitably find people bumping your vehicle from all corners. The entire city has memorized you vehicle number by heart, and as a result by merely seeing you in front, start honking for no apparent reason. You're the safest driver around, but still your car's injury list beats Sachin tendulkar's.Personality:You're a woman.

So the income tax people raid Priyanka chopra's home and find Shahid kapoor in his boxers. So what? I mean I'm really sad to see today's standards of journalism falling to such low levels. Here is an issue of national theft and look how unimaginative the news stories are! To make matters worse, here's a pic the stupid channels put up, supposedly shot moments after the IT people entered her home, when Shahid kapoor was trying to flee all the media:

Yep. I know what you're thinking. The guy's still obsessed with his last hit. But then, there was something wrong in these news reports. I put my investigating shorts on, and delved deep like I always do. On clearly examining the pic, you can see one big problem. No, its not that he's wearing that horse thingy on his face, Shahid kapoor has already been seen in public wearing that weird shit. The huge problem with the pic is that he's wearing denims, as opposed to the much reported cheetah print boxer shorts. Clearly the media is, as usual, trying to rip us off with a lie!

But then, what they don't realize is the fact that yours truly is the epitome of active citizen journalism. I went through some serious shit to get hold of this super classified photograph which was the actual pic clicked then the Income tax people raided Priyanka chopra's home.

Well, what can I say... that lucky bastard! Oh and also, Priyanka chopra.......... RESPECT!

I dream of a day, when Indian men would become so procreative, that the entire world would be brown.

I dream of a day, when Indian women would look at 35, exactly the way they did at 30.

I dream of a day, when boys in school would become enlightened enough to know that the supposed 'hotties' in school end up looking weird by the time they are 24, and the ones who they ignored, turn out to be real stunners.

I dream of a day, when salaries would be distributed with the figure announced on a loud speaker.

I dream of a day, when neck massages in office would not amount to sexual harrasment.

I dream of a day, when Shekhar Suman would realize he's not 24.

I dream of a day, when Rakhi Sawant would be happily married to Rahul Mahajan, which would mean two less douche-bags to bear on TV.

I dream of a day, when Manmohan singh would have had enough of all the yelling in parliament and finally shout at the opposition "Chup karo oye BHEN DE #@$%&##..!!!"

I dream of a day, when Sonia Gandhi would read out the 'maha mrityunjay mantra' with such perfect diction, that after thousand of years the out-of-work devtas above would throw rose petals just like they did in those old serials.

I dream of a day, when around the age of 20, all that women would think of would be sex, and all that men would think of would be finding their true love, and discounted chappals... their preference not exactly in that order.

I dream of a day, when men would cry watching 'Aisha', and make notes of Abhay Deol's costumes in the movie

I dream of a day, when Mithun would say in public, that Mimoh is not really his child.

I dream of a day, when Shahrukh khan and Karan Johar would romance each other on screen.

I dream of a day, when Sunil shetty would get completely cured of the paralysis attack which hit his face in his youth.

I dream of a day when Raj Kundra would wake up once before Shilpa shetty does, and after having a long look at her sans make up face, realize how fucking ugly she is!

I dream of a day, when parents aren't afraid of sending their daughters to study engineering.

I dream of a day, when that guy from 'Sansani' exposes his own MMS scam on TV.

I dream of a day, when outsourcing makes way for out-outsourcing, which means that US gives work to India, and we pass it on to Nepal/Bangladesh, and earn money while doing nothing.

I dream of a day, when my blog post says 'I told you so HA!', the year says 2020 and the hyperlink in that post brings you here.

The game I love :)

About Me

A software engineer by chance, a tosspot by choice,thinks he's meant for greater things, so feels shouldn't be doing lesser things, finds humor at the most unlikely places, also manages to escape unhurt from these unlikely places, is the last person you'd want to take advice from, is the best person you'd want to take advice on.